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The bakery blurs around me. Flour dusted countertops, the scent of sugar lingering in the air. I almost make it, fingers brushing against the cool metal handle, when he grabs my ponytail and yanks hard.
Pain lances through my scalp, and I’m pulled backward, stumbling.
Blake sneers, dragging me back to the center of the shop. “Think you’re fast, huh?”
My body tenses, every muscle coiled tight like a spring.
He kicks me, each blow a burst of agony.
“You’re the dumbest bitch I’ve ever fucking met,” he snarls, pulling me up by my hair. “Useless. More trouble than you’re worth.”
“Let go of me!” I scream, thrashing against his grip.
But he’s strong, stronger than he looks. He picks me up and slams me down onto the floor.
The world spins, stars exploding behind my eyelids as his boot connects with my ribs. Again and again. Each kick sends shockwaves of agony through my body.
“You’re so fucking useless,” he spits, hauling me up by my hair. “A waste of space if you ask me.”
The taste of blood drifts over my lips. “You’re not going to get away with this.”
“Watch me,” he snarls, lifting me easily and hurling me onto the display case.
Glass shatters beneath me, pain blazing as shards slice into my skin.
“You’re insane,” I manage, glaring at him as pain radiates through my body. “They’ll kill you for this.”
“Maybe they will,” he says, shrugging. “But I doubt they’re going to get to you in time.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.
I try to move, but pain flares up my side, and I can barely breathe.
The hope that the club will get here in time is the only thing keeping me conscious.
“Ugh—” A sharp, searing agony blooms in my side.
I look down and see glass embedded in my flesh, crimson red oozing through my shirt. Blood drips onto the tiles, each drop making me realize this is real. This isn’t some fucked up nightmare.
“How does that feel, huh?” Blake jeers, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing me whole.
“F-fuck you,” I spit, struggling to push myself up, but my limbs refuse to cooperate, and even if I wanted to move, I’m damn certain there’s glass deep inside me. I can’t move even if I wanted to.
My vision blurs, dark spots dancing at the edges.
“You should’ve known better than to cross me,” he says, crouching down so our faces are level. “If you had shut the fuck up and stayed in your lane like you should have done, you’d be fine.”
“You’re wrong,” I gasp, every word an effort. “You’re the one who should have stayed in your lane. They will kill you, Blake. You have to know that.”
“I highly doubt it,” He laughs, the sound hollow and mocking. “They have to catch me to kill me.”
Every breath is a battle, every second a fight to stay conscious. I clutch at the glass sticking out of my side, feeling the warm sticky blood coating my fingers.
“You’re finished, Blake,” I whisper, teeth gritted against the pain. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
He continues to tower over me like a specter of doom. “Big talk for someone who’s bleeding out,”
My body screams in protest, but I force myself to focus. Focus on surviving. On holding on until help arrives.
